


bare my skin, count my sins

by astralscrivener



Series: abc's of klance [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Also post-whenever Keith gets back, Angst, Angst with a not-sad ending, Black Paladin Lance (Voltron), Blood and Violence, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), M/M, Mild Gore, Post-Season/Series 05, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:59:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: b is for brutality.“Be careful,” Keith warned.Lance raised his eyes to Keith and winked. “I’m not your Sharpshooter for nothing.”Keith and Lance are captured on a mission.





	bare my skin, count my sins

**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna make this longer but i wrote the ending and went "...wow that was a cute ending" so there. maybe i'll write a foll...OHOHOHOHOHOH YES i'll talk more in the end note >;D
> 
> **all applicable trigger warnings are in the tags.**

**b. brutality**

                An hour ago, Keith was grateful that if he had to get captured, at least he had Lance to keep him company.

                Now, he wished the fuckers would’ve just taken him and left Lance for the team to rescue.

                “Is that your worst?” Lance teased, smiling crookedly at the Galra soldiers who had him chained to the ceiling, just high enough where his feet couldn’t touch the ground, and all of his weight strained on his arms.

                He spoke like he didn’t have a blackening eye, or a busted lip, or a nosebleed, or various other injuries scattered about his body, each one a reminder to Keith that he’d failed Lance, as a right hand-man and partner on the battlefield. After all, Keith was the one who hadn’t seen the ambush coming, even though Lance sensed something off about the whole thing. He’d followed Keith anyway, knowing there was a chance they’d walk into danger.

                “Lance, don’t—”

                Keith’s protest was cut off by a soldier whacking him on the back of the head.

                Keith himself had his hands cuffed behind his back, chained to a column like he was no more than a dog. He jerked forward, grunting, and his vision spotted for a moment before clearing again. When he looked at Lance this time, the devil-may-care grin had vanished from his face, eyes firmly locked on Keith.

                “I’d listen to loverboy over there if you want to make it out of this alive,” the soldier taunted in the same tone Lance had used on him seconds earlier.

                On another day, Keith would have expected Lance to speak up indignantly, _no,_ I’m _loverboy, actually,_ but this time, Lance kept his mouth shut. He nodded at the soldier, swallowed thickly for emphasis, and then dropped his gaze.

                “Enira will want to see this one,” the one who’d whacked Keith spoke up, tipping his chin toward the Red Paladin with no small measure of amusement.

                The soldier closest to Lance turned his back to him. Lance seized the opportunity to curl his lip in disgust, and then shoot an apologetic look at Keith. Keith shook his head, almost imperceptibly as he shifted to face the soldier.

                “Should we take him to her now?” the soldier near Lance asked.

                Keith’s soldier cocked his head and studied Keith. Keith willed himself to stay still, face a stony mask of indifference. While yeah, he was worried about what the druid in question would do to him, he was more worried about what the soldiers would do to Lance while he wasn’t there to witness.

                “No,” the soldier finally said, and smirked. “I say we give the lovebirds some time alone before we tear them apart.”

                The soldier near Lance chuckled. “Fine with me. Let them get in their goodbyes.”

                The soldiers laughed with each other and started out of the room, Lance’s soldier giving Keith a kick in passing. The door clanged shut once they left, and Keith immediately set to work, ignoring his now-aching side.

                “Leaving us alone was their first mistake,” Keith muttered, and rolled back, maneuvering until his hands were in front of him, rather than behind him. “I’m sorry I got us into this in the first place.”

                “Don’t be,” Lance said. “I should’ve dragged your ass back.”

                “Right,” Keith said, studying the cuffs, “so now that we’ve blamed ourselves, how about we don’t do that, and we blame the Galra for being rude.”

                “I like that plan,” Lance said, and grunted as he used his jetpack to boost himself up, fingers grabbing at the chain above him.

                Momentarily, Keith paused in his own fumbling around to watch Lance move with all the grace and strength of a trapeze artist, readjusting himself he was upside-down, legs wrapped around the length of the chain connected to the ceiling, not unlike Spiderman.

                “Chain up the former gymnast, I see how it is,” Lance muttered. “Idiots.”

                “Do you have anything to undo this with?” Keith asked, holding up his cuffed wrists. “I’ve got nothing.”

                Lance looked down at Keith and smirked; seconds later, the black bayard materialized in Lance’s hand. Keith gaped at him.

                “How did you—”

                “When I realized we weren’t winning that fight,” Lance said, “I put this bad boy away. Blue armor? They expected me to have the blue one, anyway. Honestly, Keith, you could do to pay a _little_ more attention out there.”

                The bayard changed shapes in Lance’s hand until it became a pistol. Lance grit his teeth and turned it over in his hands, until the barrel of the gun was pressed in the space between his wrists, against the spot where the cuffs came together.

                “Be careful,” Keith warned.

                Lance raised his eyes to Keith and winked. “I’m not your Sharpshooter for nothing.”

                Then he fired the gun. The cuffs gave way, though the bands themselves remained around his wrists. Lance dropped from the chain, into a crouch, still holding tight to his pistol. Momentarily, neither he nor Keith moved, straining to listen for noises beyond the door.

                Nothing.

                “Alright,” Lance said, and approached Keith, “under other circumstances, I’d make you beg—”

                “This is the _worst_ time for you to be flirting,” Keith snapped, even as his face flushed.

                Lance kneeling down next to him and taking his cuffed wrists in his hands didn’t help the burn on his face.

                “Hold still,” Lance instructed, even though Keith knew he’d hit moving targets from much closer distances than point-blank, and there was no way he’d actually injure him.

                Keith held still, and Lance fired the gun at the cuffs. The connection between them snapped, and Keith got to his feet. Lance stood close, gun raised, eyes sweeping the room for potential assailants, even though there was one door, and the room was empty save for them.

                “You alright, Samurai?” Lance murmured, and finally dropped his gun to his side. His bayard deactivated, and then dematerialized. Lance swept Keith into his arms and kissed his temple, and then drew back to check for injury.

                “Am _I_ alright?” Keith replied incredulously, and cupped Lance’s face with his hands, fingers featherlight. “That soldier tried to beat the shit out of you!”

                “ _Tried_ is the key word in this situation,” Lance said, and smiled lopsidedly.

                Keith ran his fingers over the sides of Lance’s face, pressing gently, until he found a spot where Lance winced. Keith frowned and kept searching, and turned up four more spots that had Lance making some expression or noise of discomfort—one near his temple, one along his jaw, two on the same cheek.

                “You don’t have to take beatings for me, you know,” Keith said. “Especially now that you’re the leader.”

                Lance’s smile wavered for the briefest second, and when it returned, it didn’t reach his eyes at the same level it had before.

                “Nah,” Lance said, “being the leader means I’ve gotta take a beating or two for the team now more than ever.”

                Deep down, Keith knew Lance was right. The leader had to take the fall. When Shiro piloted the Black Lion, he’d done as much. When it had been Keith, he’d owned up to the mistakes that nearly cost the team their missions. Now, it was Lance’s turn.

                “Doesn’t mean it’s any less painful to watch,” Keith said. “If it comes down to it, let me take the hit, alright? The leader may take a beating or two, but at the end of the day, you’re the _leader._ They need you. _I_ need you.”

                Lance put a hand over Keith’s. “Alright. I’ll do my best. You all ready, then?”

                Keith pretended to think for a minute, and then leaned forward and pressed his lips against Lance’s. Lance kissed him back gently, and then grimaced and drew back.

                “We’ve really gotta move,” Lance said, “but once we get back to the castle…”

                Keith’s stomach fluttered. Lance’s face changed, back into that cool, easy grin as he summoned his bayard again.

                “So once those goons come back for us, we take them down, bust out of here, find your bayard, find our helmets, and then we find Black and Red,” Lance said.

                A lot easier said than done. The base they were trapped on wasn’t _huge,_ but it definitely wasn’t small, and it crawled with guards—sentries and soldiers who would’ve loved nothing more than to eliminate the both of them, if the head druid would just _let them._ She took one look at the purple stripe on the side of Keith’s face, realized it wasn’t any trick of makeup or the like, and demanded they both be captured.

                Keith stole a glance at Lance as they moved toward the door, and pressed against the wall at either side of it. He knew they’d kept him around for nothing more than leverage, and Keith’s blood boiled at the thought. Voltron had saved more civilizations than Keith could keep track of, and people still doubted the team sharpshooter-turned-leader.

                Part of Keith wished Lance would just _let go_ and show these people exactly what he was made of, but then again, that was one of the few reasons he and Lance worked so well together: where one exploded, the other kept calm.

                Keith stiffened as voices started up beyond the door. Lance’s bayard transformed into his standard blaster, light enough and short enough to run with. Keith flexed his fingers, itching for something to defend himself and defend Lance with. That was the whole damn _point_ of being Lance’s right hand—taking blows and dealing damage, so Lance could focus on strategy and leading the rest of the team.

                When Keith rationalized, though, he decided it better-suited Lance to have the weapon. Of the two of them, Keith had the Galra genes, and could work their technology. If they needed an in, to a computer system or a room, he was their best shot, and preferred Lance to watch his back while he worked.

                “Alright, time’s up, lovebirds—”

                The soldiers didn’t stand a chance.

                Keith ducked and Lance shot, and the three who’d entered the room dropped in rapid succession.

                “Move,” Lance said, and any trace of the softness he’d displayed before vanished. Keith obeyed without question, leaping over the bodies and entering the hall. Lance remained hot on his heels.

                “If I remember correctly,” Lance said between breaths, “we need to take the second right that comes up. There should be some kind of storage room in there, so that— _fuck!_ ”

                One split second of distraction. Gunfire erupted from down a hall that Lance and Keith passed by, and one of the shots nailed Lance just beneath his chestplate, tearing his jumpsuit and searing flesh. Lance grit his teeth, swung his gun in that direction, and fired. Keith activated his shield and angled himself in front of Lance, with a wide enough berth for Lance to keep shooting.

                When Keith lifted the shield to block a shot coming for Lance’s head, another one struck Keith in the knee, shattering the armor of his kneecap and sending cracks spiderwebbing down the plating around his calf and shin.

                Lance noticed.

                “This isn’t working,” Lance said. “You need your bayard. Keep going, and I’ll get your six.”

                “Lance—”

                “ _Go._ ”

                Keith shut his mouth, absorbed another shot with the shield, and sprinted. Arguing with Lance was pointless. He had a strategy, and he’d stick with it. More often than not, his strategies _worked,_ and Keith usually filled in any holes. Still, leaving him like this didn’t sit well with Keith. They’d been captured in an ambush no one anticipated, and Keith had no recollection of seeing this base in any of the files the castle had recently been combing through in the search for Shiro.

                Keith stole another look over his shoulder. Lance was on his way, and his bayard had gone from his standard blaster to a handgun—not as lethal, but easier to fire when on the move. Nobody followed, but Lance showed no signs of slowing down.

                Lance caught Keith’s gaze and glared, and waved a hand at him. _Keep going, Kogane._

                Keith turned the corner, into an empty corridor lined with doors, each one marked in a different word in Galran. Missions with the Blade gave Keith plenty of time to study up on the language, and it wasn’t long before Keith stumbled upon the door Lance must’ve been talking about it. He stopped, and looked back. Lance swept his gaze around the hall once and gave Keith a nod.

                Laying a hand on the pad next to the door set off an alarm.

                Keith leapt back as a barrier clanged down over the entrance to the hall. Lance backed into him, swearing under his breath.

                “I may have fucked up a little,” Lance muttered, while Keith raised his shield.

                Different doors in the hallway opened, no rhyme or reason to which ones did or didn’t remain shut. Sentries poured out of the open ones, each armed with a gun and not hesitating to fire.

                “Surrender now,” one sentry droned at them, “and we will cease fire.”

                “Get fucked,” Lance replied, and shot the sentry in the face.

                Keith winced every time Lance spoke. Becoming the Black Paladin had been one of Lance’s dreams, one of his deepest desires, up until he actually had the mantle passed on to him. By then, Lance had made his peace with being in Red or Blue, supporting the team however he could. The responsibility of piloting Black landed on his shoulders in a blur of chaos, bringing with it more stress than either of them had anticipated.

                Being the hothead and the snarker was Keith’s role. Several months away with the Blade, and Lance had dipped toes into his shoes. Getting used to switching positions _again,_ with Keith back on the team, was taking more time than everyone thought.

                “Surrender!” another sentry shouted, and repeated it, until it became a chant that the other sentries picked up on.

                Some of the sentries abandoned the idea of shooting and swarmed Lance and Keith. There were too many for Lance to nail down, and Keith ached to have his bayard in hand and be a little more _useful._ Especially when one sentry leaped, and the bayard clattered out of Lance’s hands. Lance screamed and stumbled back, into Keith.

                Keith whirled around in time to see the sentry’s fist flying at his face.

* * *

                Lance opened his eyes to a room that most definitely wasn’t the cell.

                His head throbbed as he scanned the room, aching harder every time he looked to his periphery. The room looked like some kind of lab; that much was clear by the gleaming table and shelves along the wall, lined with what appeared to be chemicals and surgical instruments. Then Lance turned his attention to the vertical slab he was chained to, arms pinned above his head at the wrist.

                _Keith._

                Lance scanned the room again, heart speeding up. He turned his head to both sides, craned his neck, and couldn’t spot Keith anywhere.

                “Samurai?” Lance asked in a voice smaller than intended.

                “L-Lah...Lance?”

                The voice came from directly behind Lance—there must have been a second slab behind him. Lance relaxed against his.

                “You okay?” Lance asked.

                “I’m...fairly certain the sentry broke my nose,” Keith admitted. “And I think there’s a cut on my forehead. I’m not feeling too hot, to be honest. But neither of us are dead, so—” Keith paused to cough, “—that’s a plus, I guess.”

                “Yeah,” Lance agreed.

                They quieted, and Lance studied the room again. He spotted two cameras, one in each corner of the room he faced. A door evaded his field of vision.

                “You see a door?” Lance asked.

                “Yeah,” Keith answered, voice low, like it hurt to speak. “Just...a regular old door.”

                “Oh, like wooden, with a rusty knob?” Lance joked, and earned a half-hearted laugh from Keith.

                “I wish. Would be a lot easier to break,” Keith said.

                “Have to get out of these restraints first,” Lance replied, and instantly regretted it.

                “Yeah...sorry I got us into this,” Keith said.

                “This was on me,” Lance responded, with a shake of the head that Keith couldn’t see. “I made some bad calls. Please don’t pin this on yourself. You didn’t even have your bayard.”

                “I should’ve thought ahead,” Keith said. “ _You_ did.”

                “Well, doesn’t matter now.”

                He couldn’t even attempt to summon his bayard—the Galra were smarter this time around, and stripped them down to their black jumpsuits, and the list of things they needed to find increased by one bayard and two suits of armor.

                “Hey, Lance...do you think they did anything to us while we were out?” Keith asked tentatively, before Lance had the time to beat himself up over losing his bayad, when he’d worked so hard to conceal it the first time they were caught.

                Lance lifted his head as much as he could. Flexed his hand. Flexed his feet. His side ached, but otherwise...things were as normal as they could be.

                “Everything seems to be in order over here,” Lance answered. “You?”

                “I mean...yeah, I think...seems like it.”

                At that moment, Lance heard the door to the room slide open.

                “Well, what have we here? The two defiant Paladins who tried to stage their escape?”

                Lance assumed most druids didn’t speak, but this one did. Dark robes fluttered as the druid swept by him and Keith without sparing them a glance. He heard other footsteps, too, but couldn’t see anyone else.

                “How many?” he whispered.

                “Five,” Keith replied, just as quietly. “Plus the druid.”

                Six. Easy pickings in a different scenario.

                “I’d heard one of you was part Galra.”

                The druid, likely the Enira mentioned before, seemed to be paying no mind to either of them. She stood before the shelves, hands hovering over the different chemicals, selecting a few, putting a few back. Those she chose ended up on the lab table, alongside the surgical instruments. Lance’s stomach knotted at the tubes and beakers full of different-colored liquids and powders.

                “And we’d assumed the other was the Blue Paladin...until he turned up with the black bayard in hand.”

                Enira cocked her head and turned, and Lance caught sight of a single, blazing yellow eye between the mask and the hood.

                “What do you want with us?” Lance asked, and thankfully, his voice held.

                Enira picked up a vial of pinkish liquid and held it to the light, swirling it around. “We’ve studied you two in battle. You make a lethal pair, it seems.”

                “We’re Paladins,” Keith snapped with a sudden fire. “Put any two of us together and we’ll kick—”

                Keith cut himself off with a cry of pain. Enira chuckled, and Lance refrained from calling Keith’s name. Behind him, the soldiers laughed among themselves, congratulating one. Keith swore under his breath, which, as far as Lance was concerned, meant he was alright. Could’ve been better, but was alright.

                “Yes, we _could_ pit any two Paladins against our forces and watch them fight,” the druid said, “but _you two_ seem to have a...bond, of sorts. Certain _emotions_ that fuel a _need_ to win a fight. And not _just_ as leader and right hand.”

                “And what does it matter?” Lance asked.

                _Keep calm._

_You have to keep calm._

                Lance knew that every aspect of it mattered. Battle code in a number of cultures Voltron had stumbled across, and even multiple on Earth, saw relationships between soldiers dangerous. A weakness to be manipulated and exploited. The Galra seemed to be no different.

                “It would be a shame to let such prowess go to waste in the hands of incompetent fools, such as the other Paladins,” Enira answered. “Now that I have both of you here...I could give the Empire two of the greatest fighters, if not _the_ greatest, it’s ever seen. But, first...to ensure the process goes smoothly…”

                Lance couldn’t fight against the lightning that arced from the druid’s hands. He screamed, and the room whited out, Keith’s voice fading. Lance could pinpoint the second he made the shift from his body to his mind, and the druid plunged him into his memories.

                Memory after memory played on overdrive, emotions crashing over Lance before he could fully process them. Anger. Fear. Guilt. Misery. Dying planets, exploding ships, Keith in the pods—and then Keith again, injured and staring death in the face, only for Lance to save him at the last second. Keith, leaving the team for the Blade. Keith, returning with a new mark on his face. Keith, over and over.

                The day they got together.

                The day Black called to Lance, and Keith was his first supporter.

                The day they promised to see the universe together, after the war.

                And then white.

                And then Lance slammed back into his body.

                He recoiled too hard, and his head smacked into the slab. His vision spotted and ears rang, hardly registering Keith calling for him.

                “—ance! Lance, can you hear me?”

                “I’m...I’m okay,” Lance managed, and raised his head. Enira stood over him, mask shining in the light.

                “Interesting,” was all Enira remarked before moving to the other side of the slab.

                “Hey, wait—no—!”

                Lance shuddered as Keith began screaming, but his mind was still stuck on the memories Enira’d dug up. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and Lance narrowed his eyes and tried to blink them away.

                Some of those moments weren’t meant to be seen. Some were for his eyes only; others, for himself and Keith.

                “What the _fuck?_ ” Keith demanded, and Lance knew he’d come out of his memory haze.

                Enira _tsked._

                “This one may be too stubborn to turn to our cause,” she said, “but...if we were to persuade him, maybe he’d comply.”

                Enira returned to the lab table, perusing its contents until she selected something that looked like a serrated knife. She picked it up and glided to Lance. She leveled the knife before him, changing the angle of it like she was trying to see what would work best.

                “You’re the one they call Sharpshooter,” Enira said, almost absently. “Sharpshooters need fingers. Hands, for that matter.”

                “Don’t. Touch. Him,” Keith snarled.

                “Mmm,” Enira replied, “it _would_ be a shame for him to lose his fingers, now, wouldn’t it? Especially if we intend to make you both greater than the Champion—you two seem to know him, don’t you? Then again, all we’d need are a few cybernetics…”

                “What do you want from me? Just tell me what I have to do,” Keith said.

                He was straining his voice, that much Lance could tell.

                “We’ll start with a basic assessment,” Enira said. She waved her hand, and the empty wall in front of Lance shimmered, until it became a window overlooking a training deck. “Resist training, or fail to complete it, and we won’t punish _you._ We’ll punish _him._ ”

                Enira moved fast, slashed Lance across the chest before he could register what was happening. His skin stung where the knife cut through, but he stifled his screams. He didn’t need Keith worrying about him more than he already was.

                “Of course,” Enira said, and glided away from Lance, and over to Keith, “you cannot fight in that condition.”

                In his periphery, Lance saw flares of purple light. Unlike him, Keith couldn’t cover up his pain. Keith grunted and yelped, and Lance knew he itched to let a scream loose.

                “What are you doing to him?” Lance asked, voice going up an octave, and tried to turn his head.

                “Healing him, Sharpshooter,” Enira snapped, and a shiver raced up Lance’s spine.

                Sharpshooter was a role, yes, but also a term of endearment from Keith and _Keith only_. Hearing it come out of the druid’s mouth set Lance on edge.

                “Don’t...don’t call him that,” Keith ground out.

                “And why not, _Samurai?_ ” the druid replied.

                Lance’s hands curled into fists. He pulled at the restraints, hoping that, for whatever reason, they’d be too loose and he could break free, but such was not the case.

                “Leave him alone,” Lance said.

                Enira paused, and the purple light faded. “Do you wish him for him to train with his injuries? That can be arranged.”

                “Lance,” Keith said, a warning clear in his voice. “I’ve got this.”

                _“If it comes down to it, let me take the hit.”_

                “Finish healing him,” Lance conceded, and shut his eyes.

                Enira continued with the process, Keith making noises of pain and discomfort the whole way through, until finally, she ordered the soldiers to unchain him and bring him to the training deck. Lance listened to them go, Keith’s gait unsteady as he was released. He didn’t open his eyes again until he felt Enira drift by him, toward the window.

                From his vantage point, Lance couldn’t see much of the training deck, but Keith must’ve entered. Enira had no other reason to appear so interested in whatever was happening.

                “For every hit that he takes down there,” Enira said, without turning around, “make sure this one experiences pain, as well.”

                “Wait a minute,” Lance said, and three pairs of boots got moving. “You said if he _failed—_ ”

                “Any hit taken is a mark of failure.”

                Lance could practically hear the smile in Enira’s voice.

* * *

                Keith left a trail of blood from the training deck all the way back to his cell. His legs gave out when he tried to walk back on his own, and the guards ended up dragging him the whole way there. They tossed him inside with no cuffs, probably suspecting that he was too exhausted and too afraid of what would happen to Lance if he tried to break out.

                Turns out, they’d already hurt Lance.

                It took a moment to register the huddled mass in the corner as _Lance,_ shivering, covered in blood, not unlike Keith.

                “Lance!”

                Keith crawled over to him, not willing to try and stand back up, and hesitated to touch him. He noted the lacerations along Lance’s arms and torso, cuts on his face, the deep wound on his leg. Bile rose in the back of Keith’s throat as he then examined himself, and realized that the marks on Lance almost perfectly mirrored the injuries Keith had sustained.

                “Keith…?”

                Lance opened his eyes, and Keith’s stomach churned. There was a burst blood vessel in Lance’s left eye, rendering one half of his sclera entirely red. Keith wondered if he’d gotten the same injury, and just didn’t realize.

                “What happened?” Keith asked, and reached a tentative hand for Lance’s face.

                Lance winced. “Their definition of _failure_ differs from ours.”

                Keith nodded, and ran a hand along the side of Lance’s face, along bone, searching for breaks.

                “So does their definition of _basic_ training,” Keith said.

                “Enira said tomorrow we’re healed, and then I’m on the training deck,” Lance said. “After that, another round of healing, and then we’re both on deck. I...I don’t know whether she’s going to pit us against each other, o-or if we’re fighting bots…”

                Lance trailed off and reached a hand of his own for _Keith’s_ face. “Wha...when did they do this?”

                Lance drew back, and pressed his hand on his own cheek, frowning when he couldn’t feel the same injury. Keith cast his gaze to the floor.

                “That was when the soldiers tried to get me to shut up,” Keith said.

                The cut was quick and precise, digging deep into the purple mark on his cheek, trailing all the way down to his jawline, stopping an inch or so along his neck, before the soldiers could slice anything important.

                “They hurt you, too,” Keith said. “Where did they hurt you? Before everything else, I mean.”

                Lance hesitated, and then grasped Keith’s hand with shaking fingers. He pressed Keith’s hand against his chest, against the cut. “Right here.”

                Keith felt along the cut, and Lance hissed at the contact. Keith paused, and Lance shook his head.

                “It’s okay,” Lance said. “They’ll...heal it tomorrow, I guess.”

                At the mention of _healing,_ the cuts on Keith’s face that Enira had forced closed throbbed. He imagined the skin there being angry and red—the lumpy area ached when he ran fingers over it.

                “I’m sorry,” Keith said. “If I’d known what they were going to do—”

                “Please don’t apologize. You couldn’t have known,” Lance interrupted. “Come here.”

                Lance grabbed weakly at Keith. Keith leaned down and lay against Lance, mindful of Lance’s injuries. Guilt coiled in his gut, knowing that he was indirectly responsible for them.

                “Stop that,” Lance muttered, after some time.

                Keith raised his head slightly. “Stop what?”

                “Blaming yourself. Black and Red can both sense it,” Lance replied.

                _Dammit._

                The connections to the Lions never faded, even between switches and Keith’s absence. Keith expected, in piloting Black, the link to Red would fade, and then upon joining the Blade, his tether to Black would disappear, too.

                Instead, they only seemed to have gotten stronger, cementing his place on the team.

                _Stop spilling my secrets,_ Keith thought at them. _Give me info on Lance. He’s gotta be feeling just as badly about this._

                Keith didn’t think it would work, but moments later, an overwhelming wave of torment crashed over Keith. Guilt. Dejection. The crushing _I knew you couldn’t do it_ feeling of defeat. Keith sat up and gasped with the force of it, and then winced as his wounds flared with pain.

                “Keith?” Lance was shifting behind him, bracing himself against the wall as he got into a sitting position.

                “What the _fuck,_ Lance?”

                For a minute, Lance appeared confused, but understood the longer Keith stared. His face screwed up in annoyance.

                “Traitors,” he said aloud, glancing around like he could almost see Red and Black.

                Keith’s face softened when Lance gave up pretending to be offended, and avoided Keith’s eyes.

                “Hey,” Keith said. He reached out, fingers underneath Lance’s chin, tilting his face up until their gazes met. Keith’s other hand laced his fingers together with Lance’s. “Come on, Sharpshooter. Talk to me. We’re a team, you know that.”

                “I…” Lance paused, shoulders bunching, grip on Keith’s hand turning crushing. “I’m...I’m not _meant_ for this.”

                “For what?” Keith asked, because _neither_ of them were meant for this hell, as far as he was concerned.

                Lance’s shoulders slumped. “The Black Paladin.”

                _Hey, Black, do your job and help a boy out._

                “Okay, no,” Keith said, “shut up. That’s...that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, alright? You’re one of the most capable people on the team for it. Ask anyone.”

                “You were there when Black chose me,” Lance said, and his voice shot up several octaves when he continued. “Everyone thought it was a fucking _joke!_ Nobody believed it! And why should they have? I...I can’t—”

                “Bullshit,” Keith cut in. “You’ve led _tons_ of missions, even before you had the title. No one believed it because we didn’t think the Lions were ready for another switch, but you bet your ass you had the entire team behind you when we realized it was actually happening.”

                “I got us trapped here!” Lance shouted, and his voice broke. His hands flew to his throat, while tears cut paths down his cheeks. “I should’ve been smarter about it! If Shiro—”

                “Shiro was never perfect,” Keith said. “If he were here right now, he’d tell you that you did everything right. We didn’t know it was an ambush, and if anything, this is my fault. You were watching my reckless ass—”

                “And I should’ve done a better job of it!” Lance said, voice hard. “We could’ve cleared the base and been back with the team already!”

                “Well, we’re not,” Keith said, narrowing his eyes.

                “Clearly,” Lance snapped back.

                He still rubbed at his throat, and tears kept sliding down his cheeks, and _dammit,_ Keith hated this. Lance rarely voiced his insecurities, let alone broke down. It took forever for him to drop his bravado and come to Keith when something genuinely bothered him, and that happened on a good day when the team had nothing going on. It didn’t happen in dingy cells on a Galra base when they were both half-dead in need of an escape plan.

                “So what are you going to do about it?” Keith asked, and purposely kept his voice cold.

                He needed a rise out of Lance.

                A rise would pave the way to a plan, because Lance needed to one-up Keith, and the only way to one-up someone he considered near-perfect was to win.

                _Come on...take the bait, Lance…_

                Lance raised his head and studied Keith, muddled brain attempting to parse out what the hell Keith was doing. Then a hesitant smile spread over his face, and morphed into the mischievous grin Keith had fallen in love with.

                “You _asshole,_ ” Lance said, voice dripping with affection.

                “So are we gonna plan an escape or what?” Keith asked, lifting his eyebrows.

                _We._ Lance’s smile widened, and he grabbed Keith’s face in his hands and kissed him. Keith could deal with the stinging of his injuries, could deal with being covered in blood and grime, because this was all that mattered.

                “We’re gonna get through this,” Keith murmured against Lance’s mouth, in a brief break for air. “You and me, alright? You know, Lance and Keith?”

                “Side-by-side,” Lance continued, and pressed his forehead against Keith’s.

                “Hand-in-hand,” Keith whispered.

                “Together against the universe.”

**Author's Note:**

> so like...there was a ~specific~ way i was gonna end it before i got to the end, and i was gonna save the originally-intended ending for another prompt...and then realized i can use another prompt as a follow-up for this. huehuehuehue so yeah, this oneshot's probably getting a sequel in the form of another one of the prompts... ;)
> 
> see ya whenever!


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